SHELTERED WITHOUT A HOME

Berlin refugees struggle to find permanent housing

Since they met in a Berlin gymnasium turned shelter seven months ago, Samim Noori, Ahmed Javed Hamdard and Hamed Hoseini have become inseparable.

“We’re just like a small family, we’re calling me big brother, him small brother,”says Hoseini, 31, pointing at Noori, 21, and Hamdard, 24.

The three young men from Afghanistan eat together, study together and hang out together. They’d like to stay together, but finding affordable housing in the city has proven daunting, especially for refugees like them.

Berlin had a shortage of housing even before the recent wave of migration. Some landlords and neighbors are prejudiced against foreigners, and there is a massive amount of paperwork involved.

“There’s a hierarchy for the renters,” said Eyad Agha, from Syria, who first lived in Berlin in 2013 as a student before he returned last year as a refugee.

“So you have to be working or ethnically German. There are standards. We are always at the bottom of their standards list,” he said.

When they first arrive in Berlin, refugees are housed in a temporary shelter, like the gymnasium in the Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood where Hoseini, Hamdard and Noori have been staying since last year. Once their initial asylum applications are processed, or asylum is granted, they are either moved to a more permanent camp or given permission to look for housing on the private rental market. This approval comes with a promise from the authorities to pay the rent, as long as it’s cheap. The ultimate prize is a Wohnberechtigungsschein, or WBS, which makes refugees eligible for subsidized housing or an apartment in a building owned by a semi-governmental cooperative.

The brothers, as fellow residents at their shelter call them, should have moved to a more permanent place, with real walls rather than sheets separating cots, several months ago, but so far, this hasn’t worked out. “We have a permit, but it is difficult to find a flat in Berlin,”Hoseini said.

Eyad Agha, a 29-year-old Syrian, stands out on the street in front of the Sharehaus Refugio on June 8, 2016. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

A popular city, Berlin has grown at an average pace of more than 40,000 new residents per year since 2011. Last year’s refugee influx added an additional 50,000 people in need of housing. Even for Germans, finding a place to live in Berlin has become difficult.

Daniel Feher recently decided to move back to Berlin from Brussels, where he had been working with the European Parliament. It took him four months until he found an apartment, and in his opinion, it’s hard to imagine how he could have done so without a work and rental history in Germany. German landlords require securities that refugees are often unable to provide.

“When you come to Berlin and you don’t have a job yet, you don’t have a German bank account, you don’t have a German credit history, then you can basically forget about it, to find a permanent flat for rent,”Feher said.

The office that is supposed to help refugees navigate the rental market is the Evangelisches Jugend- und Fürsorgewerk, a Lutheran youth and welfare organization. The volunteer organization is often overworked and understaffed. Volunteer organizations, however, have found ways to sidestep the rigid requirement.

Instead of presenting a payment slip, refugees can show proof that they will receive anallowance from the state that will cover the rent, said Ciaran Wrons-Passman, a volunteer at an initiative called AG Wohnungssuche, which works to find apartments for the refugees.

“And then the director of the shelter can give to the refugees a form saying that they’ve always paid their rent.”

This way the refugees have a rental history, even though they don’t pay rent at the shelter.

The volunteers help refugees to assemble the paperwork and identify available rentals. “And then you go there, you have a look, then you hand in your documents, ‘cause that’s the way you do it, and then you hope that they will give you the apartment,”Wrons-Passman said.

That hope often comes to naught because many landlords are unwilling to rent short-term. Many refugees are only granted a stay of six or 12 months in Germany while their asylum applications are processed. Fahima Mohammadi, 22, is from Afghanistan and the oldest of seven children. Her family of nine has a permit to stay for six months, but Give Back, another volunteer group, needs at least a year to find them a place. When their pass runs out, they’ll have to reapply to search. It is a long process, and the family has been living in the NUK Karlshorst, a Red Cross shelter, for ten months.

The shelter is far from comfortable. Nearly 1000 people live there, which puts a strain on facilities. Families can wash laundry only once a month, the showers are far away from the actual rooms, and residents complain that the bathrooms are dirty. The food, they say, is horrible and residents aren’t allowed to cook for themselves.

Another challenge is racism, which Olaf Bruhn, of the Federal Anti-Discrimination Agency, works to research and prevent. According to some surveys, one-third of Berliners have prejudices against Muslims. Though proving prejudice is difficult through the legal system, it is definitely present. Last year, a difficult case proved that a Turkish couple paid significantly higher rents than their neighbors, even though this is against the law. Refugees are just as likely to face racism when they try to find a place to live.

The government is hoping to address the underlying shortage of housing by trying to create housing fast. Stacking shipping containers converted into living space on top of each other is part of the state of Berlin’s master plan. However, in deploying these structures, the government has to deal with angry residents. At a recent rally in Alt-Glienicke, a suburb ofBerlin, several hundred residents protested against five container-style houses being built in the area, expressing concerns that a large influx of refugees will overwhelm the local schools.

Haus der Statistik was home to Berlin’s Statistics office. Located just a block away from the busy Alexanderplatz in the heart of Berlin, it is one of the last government owned buildings in the area. June 3, 2016. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

The refugees themselves also fear that container villages might isolate them. Agha, the student from Syria, advocates building new neighborhoods for everyone instead. “Otherwise, it is not a good step for integration” he said.

Community initiatives around the city agree. They are pushing to open abandoned buildings and renovating them to accommodate a mix of housing and community space.

Florian Schoettle, board member of one such initiative, wants to turn the Haus der Statistik, an old East German office building near Alexanderplatz, into a work and living space for 2,000 people. The space would include art studios, affordable apartments, group housing and offices.

“We see the housing crisis in this city and we know that the public housing companies are not able to plan and invest, all they are able to do is administrate the properties and raise the rent,”he said. Others have decided against waiting for renovations or new construction, which could take years. Sharehaus Refugio, a charitable organization started in Africa, opened its doors to refugees, and others, for as much as they can afford in exchange for participation in the community. The 40 people living in the community, half Germans and half refugees, live and cook together. They organize cultural events, offer German courses and tend to a rooftop garden. This is where Agha, who is working toward a master’s degree in Information Management Systems, has finally found a home.

The three friends from Afghanistan meanwhile attended their first open house. Packed 30 people tight, the four-room flat would have been ideal for them. Yet, when talking to the owner, the men received a negative response. The owner did not want to rent to them because he didn’t trust the social welfare office of Berlin to make good on its promise and pay the rent on time.

The newfound brothers don’t want to give up on making a home together, even if that means many more months of waiting, or even a move to another, more permanent refugee home.

“The main things that we are looking at are some nice place, some quiet place, where we can just live together, or study,” Hoseini said. “We’re just thinking about the future.”

Gallery:

An early morning argument breaks out between two men standing in a line of around 100 people on June 9, 2016. Some have been there since 3:00 a.m., waiting until 9 a.m. for the doors to open. Landesamt fur Gesundheit und Soziales, or LaGeSo for short, is Berlin’s first contact point for refugees trying to establish asylum. This particular building is where all housing paperwork is processed. Only 50 cases are addressed per day to help refugees find external housing once they’ve been approved. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

Notunterkunft Karlshorst, is the second largest emergency shelter in Berlin, housing just under one thousand refugees from 21 different nations. Its doors opened on Aug. 7 and within six days was filled to capacity. The shelter is run by the Deutsches Rotes Kreuz, or the German Red Cross, who try their best to offer volunteer opportunities and semi-annual open house events for the occupants. Running a small, crowded compound can be difficult to keep organized though, as tenants are only allowed to do laundry once per month and erratic portable showers must be used outside of the repurposed buildings. May 28, 2016. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

At the age of 22, Fahima Mohammadi, second to right, is the oldest of seven children in her family. Two were out with friends for the afternoon when this photo was taken. Their family arrived from Afghanistan 10 months ago and have lived in the NUK Karlshorst since. The Mohammadi family lives on the top floor of their assigned building and was given two rooms to sleep their family of nine. Although they received the necessary paperwork to find housing after six months, it has been a challenge to find something big enough for the family. June 4, 2016. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

Faisal Mohammad Eshan stands in front of “block 5,” the building he has lived in for the past five months at NUK Karlshorst on May 28, 2016. Eshan is still awaiting approval to start looking for housing outside of the camp, but is hopeful that he will get his papers within the month. “When you register to live here you can also register to work,” Eshan says while talking about his volunteer position with the Deutsches Rotes Kreuz. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

Kids at NUK Karlshorst peek into one of two buildings used for residents during an afternoon of free time on May 28, 2016. About 260 of the residents are under 18 years of age, with 80 under 3 years old. With such a diverse mix of cultures, the children have started to not only learn German, but also each other’s native languages. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

“My family didn’t believe that I was kidnapped by the Taliban,” Hussainyar Sayedabdulrahman, 20, says on June 7, 2016, going into graphic detail about his six month journey from Afghanistan to Berlin while sitting in the room he shares with the family of five he bonded with while living at his former emergency shelter, Notunterkunft Geibelstrasse. The former body guard recently moved into a hostel that is hosting refugees, after getting frustrated with the disagreeable living conditions in the shelter. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

Daniel Feher, a native German, moved back from an EU job in Brussels six months ago. “When we first moved here it was impossible,” Feher says, referencing the housing market in Berlin. Without the proper paperwork, even locals find it hard to secure a living space. The demand for low income housing has skyrocketed within the past five years, causing high competition for even the most run-down apartments in the city. June 6, 2016. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

Florian Schoettle, board member for Entwicklungsgenossenschaft Haus der Statistik, a development corporation for the former House of Statistics building, leads a walking tour around the vacant building’s property on June 3, 2016. The organization invited the public to view the building and discuss the proposed nine month plan to refurbish the vacant building into a community complex for 2,000 people. It will include space for artist studios, low-rent apartments and group homes for refugees, students and the elderly, offices for non-profits and some high-rent penthouses. Haus der Statistik was previously home to Berlin’s Statistics office, and until 2008 housed files on people speculated to be enemies of the state. Located just a block away from the busy Alexanderplatz in the heart of Berlin, it is one of the last government owned buildings in the area. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

On June 6, 2016, residents of the Treptow community, an old district situated in the south-eastern suburbs of Berlin, protest the Tempohome build scheduled for the end of the month. The German government has contracted five building sites, estimated to accommodate 500 refugees in each container housing project. Many community members feel that buildings for children and recreational activities should be built before accommodating a large influx of refugees. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

“This is my… how do you say… homework? No, workbook,” says Samim Noori, a soft spoken 21-year-old from Afghanistan, sitting cross legged on his bed, June 7, 2016. Noori attends German lessons during the week to help with integration, while preparing for the B2 language exams, a requirement for job hunting. He arrived alone in Berlin seven months ago, but found solace at the Notunterkunft Wichertstrasse, an emergency refugee shelter. After meeting Ahmed Javed Hamdard, 24, and Hameh Hoessini, 31, the young men bonded after learning they were all from Afghanistan. “We are a family,” Hoessini says about the group. The young men did not know each other before arriving in Germany, but decided to room together and recently started apartment searching as a group.

Sharehaus Refugio opened its doors in July 2015, after getting inspiration from shared living homes in Africa. The five-story historical building is over a century old. The ground floor has a café, common hall for various events, and a newly renovated catering kitchen that a Syrian couple, whom also live in the building, will teach cooking classes out of. The second floor is rented out to private offices, artists and a dance studio. The third and fourth levels have 11 apartments that range from single to family size and feature a shared kitchen on each floor. The rooftop has a community garden, bee hive and a Turkish tea room. The building’s 40 tenants are a mix of refugees and low-income Berliners, who have a 12-18 month lease to get integrated into society or back on their feet. June 8, 2016. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography

“Sven, he is the coolest guy ever. Seriously the coolest guy,” says Eyad Agha, a 29-year-old Syrian living in the shared living apartments, Sharehaus Refugio on June 8, 2016. Agha explains that without Sven, the founder of the housing project, he wouldn’t be where he is today. “I consider myself one of the luckiest people here. It’s a new chance in life.” Agha is finishing his master’s degree, and has been deemed the official tour guide and integrator of the house. He has been expanding his community ties throughout Berlin within the past year. Photo by Kira Vercruyssen / @kiravphotography